


so tell me how I'm gonna get past this wave to empty swimming pools - larry au

by cigaretteharold



Category: Larry - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Gay, Gay Male Character, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7922416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigaretteharold/pseuds/cigaretteharold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry and Louis are best friends but when Harry wants more, Louis panicks,</p><p>or,</p><p>In which it wasn't mutual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 0:57AM

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiii folks  
> This is my first published fanfic, but hopefully it's not too bad. I also apologize for any grammar/spelling mistakes since English is not my first language. I also hate myself for writing this piece of shit.
> 
> The song that helped me get inspiration for this au is blue moon by troye sivan, take a listen!! it's bloody amazing
> 
> Hope you enjoy the fic <333
> 
> instagram: avoecloudo  
> twitter: ghlitterhes  
> tumblr: innoxxent

He scratches the back of his head with his fingertips, forever wishing he had longer fingernails so he could actually s _cratch_ his head and not just drag his fingers back and forth over it, hoping the feeling of itchiness would go away. But then again, he’d have to stop biting his fingernails, something Harry reminds him about every other day but a habit Louis can’t seem to let go of. It’s funny, really, how Harry always goes on and on about how Louis one day will “destroy his pretty little fingers”, but he always brushes it off whenever Louis tells Harry to stop biting his bottom lip. Louis always tells him he’ll destroy his pretty lip, but Harry doesn’t seem to care.

   Louis is tired. Now, he always is when he wakes up, doesn’t matter just how much sleep he actually got, but this time he woke up after just a couple of hours. He doesn’t know if he dreamt something or if it just was the simple chilly space Harry left behind him in the bed, but either way he couldn’t fall asleep again, so he tossed his feet off the bed and stood up to find Harry. Perhaps he’s just peeing, but even if he is, Louis just wants to know he is okay. He does not know what time it is, but it doesn’t matter because either way it won’t stop him from looking after his best friend and checking up on him. You see, Harry sleepwalks every now and then and no, Louis certainly doesn’t mind bringing his curly haired friend back to bed safe and sound, but he’s still hoping Harry is actually awake this time because Louis is just a little too tired to deal with a sleepwalking Harry right at this moment.

   When Louis leaves the bedroom for a walk down to the kitchen, he can feel the carpet under his feet tickling his soles and for every step he takes he’s questioning their decision to wait another week before vacuuming. Because Louis is a 100 per cent certain what he feels beneath his soles are more than just the actual carpet, though he doesn’t dare to even think about _what_ it is he’s feeling. Still he can’t help himself – is it food, dust or even animals? He shudders at this. No, he’s not going there. Not today.

 

Louis leaves the carpet as fast as his short legs and tired feet let him, too sickened by his thoughts to stand there even a second longer than needed. Instead he focuses on the kitchen right before him, because that’s the only source of light in their entire flat. He makes his way to the kitchen opening and just as he steps into the kitchen and therefore into the light as well, blinking because of just how bright it actually is, he’s met by a pair of green eyes and a shaking hand holding out a tea cup for him to grasp. He must’ve heard him, as Harry has fixed two tea cups of Yorkshire tea, Louis’ favourite tea – one for him and one for Louis.

   “Tea.” The word is small, quiet and a bit shaky, but enough to remind Louis that Harry is actually holding out a tea cup with his favourite tea for him and even though Louis can’t stop wondering why the fuck Harry is up in what he guesses is the asscrack of dawn making _tea_ out of all things, he still takes the cup from his shaky hand.

   Louis immediately takes the cup into his both hands and lets them get warm around it as he stares at Harry, eyebrows furrowed. He can’t put his finger on what’s wrong with the sight before him, but something is definitely not right. So he mumbles a thank you and lifts the cup up to his lips to take a small sip of the hot liquid. It burns the walls of his throat and he clears it directly after, eyes dropping to Harry’s feet which are crossed. This, Louis has learned, is a nervous manner of his and makes Louis wonder even more what the hell is going on. When he looks up again, Harry is biting his bottom lip with his front teeth, but this time Louis doesn’t even bother to call him out. Instead, Louis drops his head to the side and stares up at the younger boy before him.

   “Are you high?” he blurts suddenly. He can’t think of anything else to say to be honest, but Harry’s eyes are a bit cloudy and he’s acting really strange. Harry immediately frowns. “N-no, why would you think that?”

   “Well, you’re shaking pretty badly.” Louis mutters. Harry just shrugs.

   “’M not high.”

   “Then what the fuck is up? Because I wanna go back to bed and you’re kind of scaring me, to be honest.”

   Louis feels quite selfish to say this, but he can’t help it. He’s so extremely tired and no, he doesn’t mind taking care of the younger boy because after all, he’s his best friend and he’d do anything for him, but sometimes a prince needs his beauty sleep, you know?

   Harry sighs and shakes his head. “It’s complicated.” he mutters.

   “Well, everything’s complicated in the early hours, innit?”

   Louis has barely touched his tea, and neither has Harry. He just stares, but Harry seems to only have eyes for the ceiling. And perhaps something actually interesting is up there, but Louis doesn’t care because he has decided, as the annoying fuck he is, to stare at Harry until he gives in and tells him what the heck is up so they can go to sleep again.

   And Louis continues to stare. And Harry continues to take in every inch of the white ceiling. And Louis can’t help to wonder what is going on in that boy’s head, because he is only seventeen and he’s acting like sixty fucking three or something.

   Then suddenly, Harry clears his throat. Louis’ eyes flicker to his Adam’s apple and he can see it gulp up and down. Louis immediately softens, because Harry seems so nervous and he just wants to hug him tight, but then he might never find out what Harry is doing up and what he’s thinking about, because Louis knows that if he gives in and hugs Harry, he’ll let go of all the worries and just drag him back to bed so they can spoon. And that’s a tempting thing to do, but not now, because for once Louis is determined to stand straight and wait out Harry’s explanation.

   So, he pushes him. Just a little.

   “Sooo…?”

   Harry sighs. He licks his lips and suddenly he looks right at Louis, and Louis becomes extremely aware of how intense the green colour in his eyes actually is. It’s almost a shining colour – or maybe it’s the light – but it even gets him to the point where he’s quite terrified. Still he stares back, right into his eyes, green meets blue, and Harry parts his lips to say the least expected thing in the whole wide world:

   “I'm in love with you.”

   Louis can feel the tea coming up again. He coughs, quickly swallows it and clears his throat over and over to make the burning feeling of vomit in his throat disappear. His palms are suddenly sweaty, the cup slipping from his hands and the heartbeat is loud in his ears. He blinks and stares wide eyed at Harry with a gaze that translates to _what the fuck did you just say._ The silence that follows grows between them like a wall, thicker and worse than any carpet Louis has ever stepped onto, including their own earlier, and he hates it.

   Louis is the one to look away first. He’s panicking and swallows his own saliva with such force he almost chokes. Then he mumbles:

   “It’s not mutual. Sorry.”

   He quickly puts away the tea cup on the kitchen table beside him and leaves the room without looking back. But if he had, he would’ve seen Harry stand there with his lips pressed together in a regretting manner, tears forming in his eyes. But Louis doesn’t look back. Though, can’t shut out the sound of a tea cup slipping from Harry’s fingers and breaking into a thousand pieces when it collides with the floor.


	2. 1:48AM

“Eleanor.”

   The girl before him smiles and puts her right hand out, probably to shake mine. I blink at her a few times before I become aware of the fact that I probably should put out my hand as well; so I do so, I put out my hand and take hers. Her grip is not as firm as he expected, it’s actually a pretty strong grip to be fair, a grip you wouldn’t expect judging on her body which is built in a way you’d take as fragile and small. Her smile grows wider as Louis realizes he’s probably as easy to read as an open book. He flushes and lets go of her small hand, thanking the Gods above that she’s not tall. Finally someone who is shorter than Louis himself. I And even if she wasn’t, it’s not like he would have a problem with her being taller than him; it’s just that he’s a little smaller than average and every now and then he gets teased pretty badly about it. It gets annoying sometimes, that’s the truth. But it is what it is, isn’t it?

   But either way, this girl – Eleanor – is in fact shorter than Louis, even if it’s just an inch or so, and it’s the best thing that’s happened to Louis in a week. Literally.

   “Louis!” Alex shouts from his place by the table a few meters away. He raises his glass of wine with a wide grin plastered over his face, smiling from ear to ear. “She’s shorter than you! ‘s a miracle!” He laughs. Luke laughs with him. Louis sends them both a glare – if glares could kill they would both be dead by now – and turns his attention to Eleanor once again. She just smiles, lips pouting a bit. She takes a sip from her drink before clearing her throat.

   “Harry mentioned he had a friend he thought I’d like to meet.”

   Louis frowns when she mentions Harry, eyebrows drawn together. He shakes his hand and raises the bottle of beer to his lips, leaning against the wall beside them both. “Harry?”

   “Yeah, yeah- he didn’t tell you?”

   Louis shakes his head. No, he hasn’t. Not that Harry tells him anything nowadays. He glances over to the table where Harry sits, laughing at something stupid Luke probably said. Louis sighs heavily. He’s moving out soon anyway.

   Louis directs his attention back to Eleanor, who doesn’t look just as confident as she did a few weeks ago. But she decides it’s not her business and flashes a smile at Louis, who gains enough energy to smile back at her.

   “Anyway,” she continues, twirling a curl of her chocolate locks between her index and middle finger, “I started working at the bakery just a week ago. He told me about this nice friend he had that I’d probably like. Thought we should meet, so he brought me here.” She smiles. “Good, right?”

   “Yeah, yeah.” Louis nods. He licks his lips and repeats the nod. “Yeah. Good. How nice of him.”


	3. 2:17AM

“It’s funny, innit? How vodka looks like water. You could literally,” he hiccups, “bring it everywhere with you in a goddamn water bottle and _no one would know.”_

   He says the last few words as if he’d just came up with the greatest idea of all time, something groundbreaking, a world sensation. He laughs and shakes his head. His shaky fingers use the pink straw to blend through the transparent liquid one or two times before bringing it to his lips and taking a sip. The liquid burns his throat, and not in that good way that hot tea or coffee or hot chocolate does, but he doesn’t feel it anyway. He then puts the glass down just a little too hard, which makes him blink, before turning his eyes to the wall beside him again. He leans back into the small and lonely sofa. The leather feels hot to his back.

   “Y’know, I haven’t seen him in over a year. I haven’t s _een_ him. He avoids me.” Louis shakes his hand with a small smile, but it’s a sad one. He taps his fingers against the table before him before he reaches up to fix his fringe. He can feel a few drops of sweat forming on his forehead; he quickly wipes them away with the back of his hand and laughs. “Lost contact with Alex as well. He kinda just slipped away with Harry. But I guess that’s what happens, right?”

   Louis sighs and raises his glass to his lips once again, taking a sip of the burning vodka which he by now swallows like it was water.

   “That’s life.”

   He scratches his stubble before tilting his head backwards, now facing the dirty ceiling. He scrunches his nose at this and massages the back of his neck with his hand. He then drinks a bit more and shakes his head. He feels numb. He should probably stop drinking, but he like the feeling of not feeling anything at all. Just numb, but still there’s a sadness that manages to break through the wall of alcohol and somehow poison his brain. Louis grimaces and focuses on the wall beside him, now tapping his foot against the floor.

   “I miss him, yanno? I wish his entire presence.”

   Louis rubs his eyes. They’re getting tired and his eyelids heavy. Maybe he can numb the tiredness as well with some more vodka?

   “I wish that I could just wake up with amnesia, yanno? That’d be so much,” he hiccups again, “easier.”

   Louis decides to numb the tiredness with some more vodka and swallows a whole lot of it before burping.

   “Just _forget_ about him.”

He drags his hands over his face, rubs it before letting his hand make their way back through his greasy hair and leaving it even messier than it was before, if that’s even possible.

   “He forgot about me. Damn, he fucking _left my life._ Why can’t I?”

   Louis begins to raise his voice. The race of his heartbeat quickens and he catches his breath in his throat.

   “Why can’t I forget about him?!” He slams his hand against the table and stands up, eyes glued to the brick wall as he starts to scream: “WHY CAN’T I FORGET ABOUT HIM?!”

   “Sir!” someone else shouts in a dark voice. A tall man, probably the only man left in the bar, quickly makes his way over to Louis who continues to shout. “S _ir!_ You can’t do that. C’mon, you’re leaving.” He forces Louis out from the corner where he’s sat and takes a hard grip of both his arms as he starts to lead Louis out of the bar.

   And Louis screams. He’s crying now, aching from the feelings that he can suddenly feel; instead of numbing him, the alcohol has changed tactics and is now heightening his feelings instead. And it’s terrible, it’s fucking terrible, Louis just wants to _die,_ right at the spot. Because he misses Harry, he misses his best friend so much it _hurts._ And maybe, just maybe, the man who struggles to drag Louis out of the bar, maybe he understands, or maybe he sees the pain in Louis’ eyes, because he loosens his grip of him. Not entirely, not even close, but just a little. But Louis doesn’t even notice this, he’s fully concentrated on crying his eyes out, broken sobs leaving his slightly parted lips as he stumbles out of the bar and out in the chilly air that belongs to the night and the darkness.

   “I’ll get your jacket.” the man mutters and leaves Louis freezing outside the bar. He wraps his arms around himself and slides down by the wall outside, sitting down on the pavement as he continues to sob, his chest moving in quick motions.

   He blinks when he hears someone clear their throat at looks up, slowly focusing his eyes on the man who dragged him out of the bar and into the night just a minute ago. He hands Louis his jean jacket with a pained smile behind his big black beard, like it actually hurts him looking at Louis. Or maybe Louis is just hallucinating it all, because somewhere between the swallows of alcohol and drops of tears he feels extremely ashamed of his own actions. This isn’t him, he knows it, this is not him, he’s becoming a person he does not like and he can’t control it. And damn, if it isn’t about missing Harry then Louis doesn’t know what the fuck is up with him, because after all Harry is all he can think about. It triggered it all, that’s from where it all went wrong, _that conversation,_ but he can’t do anything about it and now? Now it’s just too late. No, Louis isn’t that person to come crawling back, that’s definitely not him. But it hurts and he’s ashamed. But he has El now, right?

   El. Eleanor. _Fuck._

   Louis quickly grabs his jacket and stands to his feet, stumbling. He feels sick and he thinks the man sees it too, because he puts a hand on Louis’ upper arm and furrows his brows at him. “Are you sure you should… –“

   “Yeah, yeah, definitely.” Louis mutters and uses the back of his hands to dry away his tears. He swallows and shoots the man a grimace, intended to be a smile. “Yeah. Thank you- and sorry.” He shakes his head before quickly taking off with shaky steps. He doesn’t even know what time is it, he just needs to get home.


	4. 2:58AM

“For fucks sake, Louis!”

   Eleanor throws her hands into the air, waving them around her like some goddamn director to a film even though it isn’t directed at anyone but Louis. It’s like she’s trying so desperately to make a statement with them, underlining her feelings – mostly anger – by waving from one way to another with her hands in the air. Maybe she thinks her screaming and yelling and big eyes aren’t enough to show Louis just how angry with him she really is. Or maybe she just believes it gives her extra power, a stronger effect to the scene playing out between them. But for Louis it’s enough to just look at her face, even though Eleanor might not realize it, because her face reflects her feelings so well. She’s always been like an open book and never good at hiding her true feelings, but this one takes the prize. There’s no other emotion but endless rage in her eyes, and maybe something vulnerable in her eyes, something sad. Disappointed, stepped on, lonely. And perhaps if it wasn’t for the fact that Louis is high, he’d feel some kind of guilt. After all, he’s the one who made her feel like this in the first place. But right now, Louis is not capable of feeling any guilt; only numbness, stretching from his toes and through his body, out to the very tips of his fingers and straight through his heart. And Louis does not know what feelings is the worst to see in her eyes, he can’t focus on it – his thoughts are fuzzy, his mind dull and his eyes teary from the joint snatched from his hands just minutes ago.

   He’s sitting at the end of their bed, staring at his girlfriend who walks back and forth in the room he wishes he could still call theirs, but which he hasn’t spent even one night in in the past month. Not even those words taking over his mind are enough to make him feel guilty, not after he’s had so many joints he can’t even count on his fingers and the room is spinning slightly whenever he turns his head. And whenever Eleanor turns her back at him to walk away from him in the room – before turning back and walking towards him again – he can’t help but see Harry walking away from him, as their curls are the same and her hair colour is so close to his, and maybe even the length, one thing Louis wouldn’t know about Harry’s hair but still a thing he could imagine. Maybe he grew it out to match Eleanor’s length. Probably not, but he wouldn’t know anyway. But if he squints, he can almost pretend it’s Harry that’s s-

_“LOUIS!”_

   Louis winces when Eleanor practically yells at him. He has to remind himself that of course it isn’t Harry right before him, it’s Eleanor, and she’s angry with him. Why would Harry be here anyway? Louis literally hasn’t heard from him in two years. So whether Louis likes it or not, Harry will never be before him again.

   “Are you even _listening_ to me?”

   Louis almost jumps. He’s so deep into his own thoughts that he jumps, because once again, Louis had forgotten Eleanor was there, and even though it was only for a mere second, it was enough for Eleanor to notice. So he looks up at her; she’s standing right before him, hands on her hips, staring right at him; and Louis is sitting on the edge of the bed – still – hands in his laps, staring right up at her.

   They freeze like that for a while. Her standing up, him sitting down. Staring. Perhaps even competing, and Louis wonders who’s gonna be the first to break it. Look away.

   He’s actually the one. Because he sees the small trace of redness along her neck, a blush spreading up her chin and cheeks, and he follows it with his eyes as it spreads up on her forehead and into her dark hairline. She takes a step forward, closer, and the closer she gets, the more of a contrast the redness creates next to her pale skin as the redness leaves her nose and ears untouched. Suddenly he lifts his right hand from his lap and reaches out, dragging his fingertips over Eleanor’s red neck, pulsating and blushing, but he doesn’t even reach her chin until she slaps his hand away with eyebrows drawn together and an angry look plastered all over her face. Louis lets his hand fall as he snaps out of it like a trance and Eleanor looks like she’s about to cry. She opens her mouth, words trembling as they roll off her tongue quietly:

   “You’re never here.”

   Louis is quiet. The worst thing is, he doesn’t even think twice about the fact that Eleanor is mad. And probably hurt, very hurt. Right at this very moment, he doesn’t even care. He loves Eleanor, he always have and always will, but not like that. He’s never loved her like that. And he’s so very thankful for their time together, everything she’s done for him and everything she does and how she _tries so hard_ to make things work. The fault is in him, not her, and he hopes she knows that, because he can’t make himself say it out loud. He can’t even open his mouth, goddammit – it’s like his muscles are not working anymore. He just can’t fucking _talk,_ but he hopes she knows he loves her. Just not the way he _should._

   “You’re always high.”

   Eleanor continues. Now she doesn’t just look like she’s about to cry, she sounds like it too.

   Louis sighs on the inside.

   “You don’t seem to want me.”

   Eleanor’s voice is so small it’s barely a whisper, but Louis hears it. Louis hears everything, from her shaky inhale to how the last word seems to almost disappear as her voice breaks. And as it breaks, something inside Louis breaks too. And suddenly, he seems to be able to talk again. He opens his mouth, but this time, he decides to tell the truth, the truth he’s wanted to tell for months and months but never had the guts to. So now, he says what he knows is gonna tear them apart, but in the end, weren’t they already?

   “I don’t.”


	5. 3:29AM

It hurts. It hurts in every inch of him. Fuck, it really does hurt. It hurts in his lungs, by his hips, in his back and through his knees. But most of all, it hurts where his heart is, right there at the left side of his chest, and he can’t fucking _breathe._

   Louis can’t breathe.

   He literally can’t breathe.

   He’s gripping the white porcelain sink, holding onto the edges like never before. Like it is a matter of life or death. Which it is, or at least it feels like it, because Louis _can’t fucking breathe._ He’s struggling to get air down his throat and into his lungs, and he’s crying, hard, which is not making it any easier to breathe.

   Louis hates crying. He finally looks at himself in the mirror, studying his pale face and dark circles, bags heavier than ever before, swollen eyes, and he hates what he sees. He hates crying. He usually doesn’t cry, mainly because he feels so _weak_ while doing it, but now he is anyway and he can’t fucking _stop._ All Louis does is cries, hard, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Good thing it’s in the early hours and good thing no one actually visits the public bathroom of an old pub at this time. Good thing no one sees him because damn, shit would go down if anyone did. Someone would get worried because he literally looks like shit, and feels like shit too, to be honest. He’s shaking too, which is only making him hold onto the sink even tighter.

 

Slowly, the hysterical crying and shaking dies down. That’s when Louis let’s go of the sink and rubs his hands together because they kinda hurt after holding onto something so tight for so long, but other than that he’s fine – right? Right. He’s fine. He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine. He’ll just keep telling himself that until he believes it. He’s fine.

   Louis shuts his eyes together tight and shakes his head. It hurts, and it feels like his brain is jumping from one side to another inside his head. Or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s high. But the room is spinning slightly so he just decides to sit down, right there and then, on the floor. He nearly knocks over the bottle of whiskey beside him when he does so – he’d forgotten he’d put it down next to his feet earlier when he panicked. But now he’s only happy he found it, because even though Louis was only separated from it for a short period of time and even though he didn’t even remember the bottle until now, he missed it. So he takes it, grips it tightly until his knuckles whitens and he lifts it with a shaky hand to his lips. Drinking. One, two. Three. Four sips, then he puts it down again.

   Louis sniffs. He gathers a full fist of his sweater into his palm and uses it to dry his nose, rubbing it back and forth a few times before letting go of the grey sweater again. Using the same hand, this time to fix his unfixable hair that only falls back into his eyes again once he leaves it. It’s long and uncut and unstyled and he hates it, but he doesn’t see the point in fixing it nor does he have the money. So it just is that way, and he lives with it, just as he does with everything else.

 

That’s what’s hurting, Louis realizes while he’s sitting cross legged on the floor playing back and forth with his whiskey bottle between his small hands. That’s exactly what’s hurting. There’s something – or a rather someone – missing in his life. It hurts. He hates it but he still lives with it.  That’s what’s hurting him so much.

   He should just call him. He should call him. _Harry._ He should definitely call him.

   And Louis has a phone somewhere in one of his pockets, and he has Harry’s number in it, because after all these years Louis never deleted Harry’s number. Harry may have deleted Louis out of his life and Louis may have gone with it, but deleting Harry out of his contact list would be like actually deleting Harry – even if it’s just the memory of him – out of _his_ life, and Louis just can’t do that. It would hurt too much. So Louis still has his number there, just existing in his phone book, untouched, until now.

   He fumbles with his phone, unlocking it taking almost minutes because of him shaking all too much. But he finally succeeds, unlocks it, and with a frenetically shaking thumb he presses to the small green icon with the phone on, and he scrolls through the entire list until he reaches the S. _Harry Styles,_ it says, right there, right in front of him in the phone book, and it feels like a fucking pang right in his chest just looking at it, glancing at it. It hurts just thinking about it.

   He stares for what could be minutes, hours or days. That, until he makes the hard decision and presses the bottle against his lips, drinking a handful of whiskey before pressing down Harry’s number and holding his phone to his ear.  And then he waits.

   He waits.

   And he waits.

   And then he hangs up. Because Louis can’t do this. He’s crying again, small tears forming in his eyes and blurring his sight, and he can’t do this.

   He drinks a little more, resting his back against the floor as he lies down, staring up into the white ceiling. It’s so white it’s almost blinking him, or at least he thinks so, so he closes his eyes with his nose scrunched up. He can feel the tears making their way down the sides of his face, down to his ears before landing on the floor beneath him. And in Louis’ mind, his phone rings, and he picks it up with shaky fingers, and on the other line is Harry’s voice. Harry tells him he’s missed him so so much, he tells him he loves Louis and he wants him to come back and live with Harry again, like they used to, and Louis really, _really w_ ants to, so he says yes. And he opens his eyes out of pure excitement and it’s gone.

   Louis sniffs. He sits up, and his tummy muscles hurt as he does so, back resting to the toilet as he once again dials Harry’s number. He doesn’t even know why he looked it up in his phone book in the first place; he’s always known Harry’s cell number by heart. So he dials it because after all he’s always known it and actually, he won’t ever forget either. The phone presses coldly to his ear as he closes his eyes a second time, this time though, he waits out the beeping tones. He waits until something cracks in the phone and he’d long ago lost count on how many beeping sounds there were. The line dies down, and Louis realizes no one’s picking up, and he’s hoping with his entire heart and body and mind that Harry just isn’t by his phone right now, and not that he’s ignoring him.

   Please let it be like that.

   He swallows some more whiskey before staring down at his phone. Just staring. He doesn’t even notice the tears by now and they’re just silently rolling down his face. It hurts, it hurts so much and he almost, _almost_ hopes it’s hurting Harry just as much. But no, no, that’s a selfish though and he quickly takes it back with a shake of his head. No, he doesn’t wish Harry any pain at all. But still – _still,_ he must’ve felt some kind of pain? They walked out of each other’s lives after fucking _living_ together, for fuck’s sake. He must’ve felt pain. Right?

_Right?_

   He guesses he’ll never find out.

 

15 minutes later, Louis has dialed Harry’s number 9 times and called the same number 6 times. He also hung up twice, regretting calling and then regretting not letting the call go through. But then again, every time he called the beeps just died down after a while, and then the line went dead, and he got even more disappointed for every time he did this, so the 9th time he dialed the number, he deleted it again without even pressing down the call button. No, he didn’t want to seem desperate.

   Like he wasn’t looking like it already.

   Louis’ bottle is almost finished by now, and he’s starting to feel a little numb. Or well, a “little numb” depends on how you define the word numb, but Louis decides he still feels only a little numb. He doesn’t wanna worry anyone. Then again, who is there to worry?

   Louis is so deep in thought that he jumps when his phone rings. The loud sound cuts through the thick silence like knives. He grimaces as he gets up on his knees, leaving his bottle on the floor behind him as he with shaky hands reaches for the phone a few feet before him on the floor. He stumbles up on his feet as his eyes scans the display, and yes, _yes,_ it’s _the_ number. It’s Harry’s number.

   It’s Harry’s number.

   Harry is calling him.

   It’s _Harry’s number._

   Louis gets so lost in thought he almost forgets to actually answer the damned call. Finally, his shaky thumb finds the answer button and he presses it, phone quickly to his ear, harder than ever before. Hopefully he won’t crush the poor phone in his hand, his grip is _that_ strong. He stumbles on his own feet as he lets out a shaky:

   “H-hi?”

   His voice is so, so small, and a little thick from all the crying, so he clears his throat and tries again.

   “Hi.”

   Good. That's better.

   But the voice at the other end of the line is not the voice he expected it to be.

   “Hi, sir, I do not know who you are but it is in the middle of the night and I’d very much appreciate it if you didn’t call any more on this number. At all.”

   Louis eyes widen. He can feel the room spinning now, so he quickly grips the sink with his other eye, breathing heavily into the microphone. “S-sorry?”

   “I’d like you to stop violating me-“

   “Harry?”

   “-or I’ll call the cops.”

   “Harry?” Louis can feel his throat getting tighter, the room getting smaller, his sight getting blurrier. “Harry? _Harry?”_

   “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

   “ _Harry?!_ ”

   The line goes dead and Louis can’t breathe. He literally can’t breathe, and it’s not like before- no, he actually _can’t fucking breathe_ , he’s panicking, and he can’t see anything, feel anything.

   His hand collides with something hard. A loud shatter can be heard echoing between the walls in the bathroom. When Louis blinks, all he can see is a wall in front of him, because the mirror is now on the floor shattered in a million of pieces. And when Louis looks down at his hand – which is folded like a fist – it’s bloody, and here and there are small shatters of glass cutting open his skin. But it doesn’t hurt, heck he doesn’t feel anything at all.

   Strange, Louis thinks, as he starts crying. Not quietly, but loud and sobbing and panicked, and it feels like his lungs, his entire chest is about to explode. Hysterical, loud crying, but he’s fucking _numb._ He’s just crying and it won’t fucking stop, so he just stands there, with blood and glass shattered everywhere around him, and at some point – Louis doesn’t know when – he must’ve lost his balance, because the next thing Louis remembers is his head hitting the stone cold floor and his bottle of whiskey standing there, close to him, but not close enough for him to reach it. And for some reason this hurts Louis more than anything today, because when it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter what he wants in life, because it’s never close enough.

   He wanted Harry, but he waited too long, and now he’s too far away for him to reach anymore.

   He wants his whiskey, he wants to fucking drain himself in whiskey, but it’s too far away as well.

   He wants to fucking _die._ But for some reason, the only thing he could cause himself was a wounded hand. Even death, he can’t reach.

 


	6. 4:15AM

Honestly, it is quite fucking embarrassing how drunk Louis was. It was probably even worse for the ones with him though, the ones whom Louis can’t even remember the names of but they still helped him to get home. Or well, that’s what Louis thinks, he doesn’t know for sure though because he hasn’t yet opened his eyes. But either way, it doesn’t really matter, because all that matters is that stupid wonderful bottle of wine and how it’s soon gonna brush his lips while he – no, who is he trying to fool? It’s not gonna brush his lips gently like some fucking kiss from a Disney movie, he’s going to shove it against his mouth in a second and he knows it. Nothing gentle about that. But then again, has Louis ever been gentle?

   He has.

   He’s not going there though.

   No. Louis sighs and opens his eyes. His room is bright like the fucking sun and it hurts like a bitch; his first thought is to immediately close his eyes and fall back into the deep slumber of a hungover, but then the headache hits him. And man, it’s not a gentle one, Louis can tell. No, this one is a special one. He can feel this one through his entire body, from the very back of his head and down to his goddamn toes. It really fucking _hurts_ and if Louis was more of a child, he’d cry. If Louis was more of an emotional human being he’d cry, because goddammit it hurts, but he doesn’t cry. He’s not that kind of emotional human being. That was destroyed years ago actually, and so he’s just another emotionless drunk.

   Can you call Louis a drunk?

   Yes. Yes, you definitely can.

 

Anyhow, so this is where Louis decides to do something about the headache. The thing is, that kind of involves him actually putting some effort into his actions and getting a life (mostly getting out of bed to be honest). And Louis finds that hard, which is after all not very surprisingly anymore, but he has to. That’s the thing he keeps telling himself. He has to get his shit together. Truth is, he actually needs to get his entire life together and do something about himself, but that’s a whole other story for a whole other day.

   What shall he focus on today though? Louis makes a list in his head:

  1. Get the fuck up.
  2. He needs to piss.
  3. Aspirin.
  4. Probably a shit load of aspirin.
  5. Play video games.
  6. Maybe call his mum.



   List: check.

   Louis sighs and slowly sits up in his bed. Immediately he feels as if his stomach is going upside down and turning itself inside out so he quickly jumps off the bed and rushes to the bathroom. He drops to his knees and barely manages to lean over the toilet before the puke just kind of floods from his mouth. It leaves in such a rush it makes his throat burn like fire, but Louis is used to it by now and therefore doesn’t even think about it. He coughs and dries his mouth with the back of his hand before standing to his feet. He doesn’t even bother flushing the toilet, he just turns around and leaves to find the kitchen. He needs a cup of tea, and maybe some vodka. And an aspirin. Five, actually.

   But Louis doesn’t make it this far. His phone, somewhere in this goddamn apartment, starts ringing before he even makes it halfway to the kitchen.

   “Who the fuck calls this early?” he mutters, not having a clue about what time it actually is. He follows the ringtone that doesn’t stop for what feels like hours and when he finally finds it, it is in his goddamn shoe. How it ended up there he does not know; he just picks it up and quickly swipes right to answer the call. Just before he does so, he sees the name flashing before him on the display – Briana. Briana, that girl he’s been with for a couple of weeks now, partying day and night; the girl who’s bed he’s been waking up in every now and then. He shakes his head:

   “Hello?”

   There’s a sigh in the other end and then a heavy silence. While this goes, Louis tries to figure out if the sigh was a sign of relief that he answered, or a sign of irritation _that_ he answered.

   But Louis doesn’t make it very far through his thoughts before Briana seems to have swallowed the entire air around her – the breath she inhales is a crazy amount of oxygen even for a girl like her, who talks too much and laughs too loud. And now he’s expecting her to laugh as well, the bubbly one he’s used to that sounds just a little too fake, but she’s silent. Not the silence that encourages him to start a conversation nor the silence that tells him she’s exploding of excitement, but the kind of silence that gives Louis chills.

   “So what did you..?”

   “Louis, I’m pregnant.”

   Louis freezes on the spot, hands clenching his phone against his ear as he stares right out in thin air. Suddenly he can’t breathe; it feels like if his throat has just kind of closed; that something’s stuck and won’t get out of the way no matter how much he tries to swallow, throat dry as paper. He feels like if something just hit him right in the face and he just wants to die, right at this moment. He can’t fucking breathe. His other hands, the one not clenching the phone, is trying to hold onto the doorframe as he tries to just stand straight and keep his balance. His fingers whiten because of the strength it takes to do so. He waits in painful silence for Briana to keep talking and when she does, he almost throws the phone into the wall. But he keeps a hold of it, listening to the girl who’s probably scared shitless, but whom he doesn’t give a fuck about.

   “You’re the father. And I’m keeping it.”

   This time, it’s a miracle that he doesn’t throw the phone into the wall. Instead, Louis hangs up and slams the phone down on the chest of drawers beside him in the hallway. Black dots dance before his eyes. Fuck the aspirin, he needs a glass – or a fucking bottle, that’s for sure.

 


	7. 5:01AM

“Y’know, life isn’t even tough, ‘s fuckin’ s _hit.”_

   Louis mutters and nods for himself. He’s sitting at a bar – again – but this time, he’s got a man beside him. He was planning on getting a girl for tonight as well, but things didn’t go as planned and here he is, pouring his soul out to a stranger of the same sex or something like that.

   The man nods and takes a sip of his drink. He’s clearly not even close to as wasted as Louis drunk ass, but that doesn’t bother Louis at all. Actually, Louis doesn’t even notice; he’s too caught up in his own emotions, which suddenly kind of just break through. Louis hates it when that happens, he feels so goddamn weak when it does, but now the feelings, the emotions, they’re too many, too strong to handle and the fact that Louis actually feels weak doesn’t even reach his mind.

   “Ya just kinda go through hell, day after day, ‘n it’s- I’m _trying,_ so hard!” Louis shoves his hand into the air and almost hits the man, who laughs and helps Louis to put his hand down again. Louis just shakes his head and drinks a bit more of his vodka. “I really, really tried, pal-- I really did. And look what happened! I LEFT HIM! IT’S ALL MY FAULT!”

   The man shakes his head, suddenly serious. He puts a hand on Louis shoulder.

   “Hey, mate, calm down. Everything will be alri—“

   “NO,” Louis shrugs the hand off his shoulder, “ _no,_ it won’t! I fucked up!”

   “Everyone fucks up every now and then. Okay? It’s normal, it’s human. And everything will be okay.”

   The man wrinkles his forehead, eyebrows drawn together. He looks at Louis up and down; Louis actually looks worse than ever, with dirty clothes stained of alcohol and things he doesn’t even dare looking at. And the man feels sorry for Louis, he really does, because he looks so lost and so sad and he just wants to hug him. But when he finally does, when he finally decides to and goes in for a hug, Louis stops him.

   “No.” Louis shakes his head. “No. Don’t hug me. I only bring bad luck. ‘m a fuck up. Don’t hug me.”

   The man shakes his head, “mate, you need a hug…”

_“No.”_

   And so the man doesn’t hug Louis. He just sits there, staring, looking at everything and nothing. That, until Louis suddenly sniffs beside him.

   “I just—I just panicked a-and now I’ve lost him and everything’s worthless and I haven’t felt happiness in _years_ and I just want to hug him you know because he means – meant – the world to me but he’s not here anymore and that hurts as hell, y’know, because I didn’t tell the truth that one time and now it’s _too fucking late_ and I don’t feel like I can keep on living like this and—“ Louis inhale, deeply and forced. “It’s not fucking worth it! I wanna die, oh my _god—“_

   And this is when the man stops caring about what Louis thinks. He stands up and reaches out to Louis, gripping his shoulders and spinning him around on the chair he’s sitting on. And Louis, poor Louis, starts screaming and crying and god knows it’s a good thing they’re completely alone at the bar, because otherwise someone probably would’ve called the police. Maybe that’s what the man should do as well, because Louis needs help, this the man knows. But right now, he’s just gonna hug him, and so he does. He wraps his strong arms around Louis in a tight hug that Louis fights; he cries and screams and over and over again he breathes the words “die” and “Harry” and “it’s not worth it” and the man doesn’t know what that means, but he keeps hugging him anyway. And soon, after a while, Louis stops fighting the man, and so he gives in and let the man hug him, because they both know that’s what he needs right now. The man wants to help him, and he doesn’t know how, so he just hugs and hopes that something broken inside maybe, if he hugs hard enough, will start to heal. No one deserves to feel like they wanna die, no matter what happened, and the man wants Louis to know that.

 

“Hey, hey—sssshhhh.” The man holds Louis tight to his chest as Louis cries. He’s shaking like crazy, the poor little kid, but the man doesn’t care. He just holds him until the cries die down a bit and then he holds him even more.

   “You know… Things are tough. Life is tough. But I promise you, this is just a small part. It might feel like your entire life is shit.. but you’ll get through it. We always do.” The man smiles as he rests his chin on top of Louis’ head. The boy is so small that even the man, who’s just above average, can act this out without failing.

   “You don’t deserve to feel like you want to – or need to – die,” the man promises with a soft voice. “Everything will be good. I believe in you. I believe in humanity. And I believe that wounds heal, no matter how big or deep they are. It might take a while – but they do.”


	8. 5:56AM

The music pounds in his ears like drums in his head, but still all Louis can hear is Harry’s laugh. And it’s not even only Harry’s laugh – it’s Harry’s voice. Harry’s cries, Harry’s screams and Harry’s shouts. Shouting was one thing he only did when he beat Louis in FIFA though, because Harry’s a gentle and kind soul who believes you don’t have to shout to have your voice heard. But anyhow, he never shouted unless he beat Louis in FIFA – but the thing is, that’s what he did most of the time, mostly because Louis let him though. Louis loved seeing Harry winning, because Harry would repeat “I won” and “I beat your ass” over and over again with a laugh and Louis would smile bigger than ever and nod with every word. Laugh every time Harry squealed: “I won – _again!”_

   But that was five years ago – more, even. It hurts just thinking about it. It feels like every time Louis comes close to the thought, his body just starts aching and he can’t breathe. You’d think Louis would’ve forgotten him by now and left that state of mind; that he’s over him; but no. No, Louis is not over Harry. Not even close.

   And as he thinks this, he realizes the brunette in front of him – the one he for just a second actually thought was Harry – actually isn’t Harry. She’s waving her hands in front of Louis, making him scrunch up his nose and look at her like she’s some kind of psycho, but then again maybe he’s the psycho here.

  Louis blinks; once, twice, before he realizes it’s actually Danielle who’s trying to talk to him. She’s snapping her fingers in front of his face, waving and talking, but all Louis can hear is the sound of his own thoughts and how they keep thinking that maybe, if he squints enough, he can pretend that Danielle is Harry just like he’s did with just in fact everybody else and—

   Danielle, who’s not getting any reaction at all from Louis, grabs his arm.

   “I’m gonna go out and smoke. You coming?”

   Louis doesn’t even answer, mostly because he still doesn’t understand the words leaving Danielle’s mouth. What does she mean? What is she talking about? Louis doesn’t know. And apparently there’s something Danielle is not getting either because she just rolls her eyes with a frustrated sigh and literally drags Louis off of his bar chair. The drink Louis has been holding for about five minutes immediately moves out of control now that Louis just has to jump up; the disgusting mix of vodka and a whole other stuff wets his hand when the balance fucks everything up and by this, Louis drops the drink to the floor automatically, not wanting to get wet from it. The glass crashes against the floor but this is something Louis doesn’t even notice when he half runs after Danielle, through all the stinking and vomiting and sweating groups of people and out in the dark and cold night of December.

   And so it’s December, which means it’s almost Christmas, which also means it’s almost Louis’ birthday, but there’s not even one snowflake in sight as far as Louis can see. When Louis and Harry where out and about the nights before Louis’ birthday it always snowed. But without Harry, there’s no snow. At least not this year.

 

Danielle leans against the brick wall just outside the nightclub. She lights a cigarette and puts it between her lips before handing over the lighter to Louis, who lights his own cigarette with shaky hands. He doesn’t say a thing, not even thank you, he just inhales the smoke deep into his lungs and when the white smoke leaves his lips, he follows it with his eyes up into the night sky until it disappears.

   It’s quiet. Nothing can be heard but their deep breaths and inhales of smoke. It’s quiet, and the only thing Louis can think about is Harry. He misses him, but they haven’t even spoken since he introduced him to Eleanor. For fucks sake, they haven’t _spoken_ since that one morning; that one morning when it all went wrong. And shit, Louis misses him. He misses him so much it hurts. It’s an ache, spreading from his heart to his lungs and chest, and then all the way out to his fingertips, burning from the top of his skin like fire. He wishes he could turn back time. But it’s too late now anyway, he knows that – he knows that so well. He should’ve done something about it a long time ago, when it was still even possible.

 

“What the fuck is with you, Louis?”

   Danielle interrupts his thoughts with her thin, annoying voice. She snorts and stands straight, back now away from the wall and not leaning anymore, which makes Louis the only one doing that. And Louis, fuck, Louis knows what’s coming. He knows what Danielle is going to say, because he hasn’t even looked at her, he hasn’t even dedicated her a though for weeks now. And he knows how wrong it is; he just doesn’t care.

   Danielle looks at Louis with a furious glare, and oh, if eyes could kill.

   “You’re supposed to be all over _me,_ not over some fantasy you can’t have. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t even look at me twice in three hours. I’m leaving.

   And so, she leaves. Louis doesn’t even bother to protest. He knows she’s right.


	9. 7:33AM

The duvet cover slides down his legs as easily as if it was made of silk. Louis turns around in his bed and puts his feet down, cold floor touching his bare skin as he shivers. He stands up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand while he with lazy steps makes his way out of the bedroom and over the carpet. In the middle of the carpet though, he stops, blinks and stares down to his feet. His naked toes curl into the carpet, carefully, like it could bite them off any minute. Even though the carpet has been there since they first moved in, Louis can’t help to feel like something’s extremely different about it; or wrong, perhaps. He does not know, but is immediately disgusted by the thought of what his toes are actually curling around and what it is in the carpet tickling his feet, so by that he keeps on walking. They really need to vacuum.

   Louis shivers and quickly wraps his arms around himself while making his way to the kitchen. Why is it so cold?

 

“Tea.” The word is small, quiet and a bit shaky, but enough to remind Louis that Harry is actually holding out a tea cup with his favourite tea for him and even though Louis can’t stop wondering why the fuck Harry is up in what he guesses is the asscrack of dawn making _tea_ out of all things, he still takes the cup from his shaky hand. This he does with a wrinkle in his forehead, eyebrows drawn together. He stares down at the cup he just took into the both of his hands, then up at Harry with his blue eyes piercing into his like they were reading his soul. Truth is he actually wishes he could, because he’s so very damn confused by now, it’s killing him. So he opens his mouth, but doesn’t get a word out, so he closes it again and mumbles a thank you. He then lifts the cup up to his lips to take a small sip of the hot liquid. It burns the walls of his throat and he clears it directly after, eyes dropping to Harry’s feet which are crossed. This, Louis has learned, is a nervous manner of his and makes Louis wonder even more what the hell is going on. When he looks up again, Harry is biting his bottom lip with his front teeth, but this time Louis doesn’t even bother to call him out. Instead, Louis drops his head to the side and stares up at the younger boy before him.

   “Are you high?” he blurts suddenly. Ironically, since what’s been happening in his life until now literally has revolved around drugs, those not taken by Harry. Or maybe that is what is _going_ to happen? Or maybe it’s just his imagination, it’s all in his head. Maybe? He doesn’t know. One more thing he doesn’t know is why this is the first thing that comes to mind, Harry being high, but his eyes _are_ a bit cloudy and he’s acting really strange. Louis has got this really strange feeling of déjà vu by now.

   Harry immediately frowns. “N-no, why would you think that?”

   Yes, the feeling of déjà vu is definitely there and it’s scaring him shitless.

   “Well, you’re shaking pretty badly,” Louis mutters as an answer. Harry just shrugs.

   “’M not high.”

   “Then what the fuck is up? Because I wanna go back to bed and you’re kind of scaring me, to be honest.”

   Louis feels quite selfish to say this, but he can’t help it. He’s so extremely tired and no, he doesn’t mind taking care of the younger boy because after all, he’s his best friend and he’d do anything for him, but sometimes a prince needs his beauty sleep, you know?

   Harry sighs and shakes his head. “It’s complicated.” he mutters.

   “Well, everything’s complicated in the early hours, innit?” And there it is again, the feeling that this very moment has happened before.

   Louis has barely touched his tea, and neither has Harry. He just stares, but Harry seems to only have eyes for the ceiling. And perhaps something actually interesting is up there, but Louis doesn’t care because he has decided, as the annoying fuck he is, to stare at Harry until he gives in and tells him what the heck is up so they can go to sleep again.

 

 “Sooo…?”

   Harry sighs. He licks his lips and suddenly he looks right at Louis, and Louis becomes extremely aware of how intense the green colour in his eyes actually is. It’s almost a shining colour – or maybe it’s the light – but it even gets him to the point where he’s quite terrified. Still he stares back, right into his eyes, green meets blue, and Harry parts his lips to say the least expected thing in the whole wide world:

   “I'm in love with you.”

   For just a second, Louis’ entire world stops. The earth stops spinning, the air stops running through his lungs. The feeling of déjà vu is stronger than ever before, it almost tears his body apart, ripping at his flesh and bones until there’s nothing left of him but a beating heart. Still, the feeling is calming; comfortable, even. It’s almost like it feels safe, knowing this has happened before.

   Louis looks at Harry. He takes it all in, every centimeter of his pale skin and bright eyes and messy curls. He swallows him with his eyes, piercing and blue, and he doesn’t understand how he hasn’t seen just how beautiful Harry is. He doesn’t understand how he hasn’t realized how gorgeous he is – until now. He’s overwhelming. It’s like looking at the sun, so bright he shines, and Louis almost needs to squint his eyes. It feels like his breath is just immediately taken away from him, beaten out of his lungs by Harry’s beauty, because he really is out of this world.

 

The first thing Louis realizes is that he’s been given a second chance; a second chance to do the right thing. Either that, or he literally just dreamt about his future and this is the real truth in the real world. Maybe nothing of what just happened, happened. Maybe, even though Louis is having a hard time believing it, it was all a dream – which would by the way be a lot more likely than that he would’ve been sent back into the past just to make the right choice. But either way, Louis has now been given a second chance to fix his life.

   That’s the first thing he realizes.

   The second thing Louis realizes is that life is short – way too short to not be honest, especially to yourself. Too short to take any risks. Too short to waste it on things that don’t even fucking matter, especially when you have the chance to do the opposite; too short to _live._

   The third thing Louis realizes is that he loves Harry.

                                                                       

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this!!! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it (it was hard ok). Hope you all have a lovely life, ily all <333
> 
> instagram: avoecloudo  
> twitter: ghlitterhes  
> tumblr: innoxxent


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